Bleeding Fiction

Two weeks ago, my iPod broke. I charged it up and listened to three or four songs before it froze. It didn't play music or respond to any of my button-pushing. Then it's battery died. I charged it up again once or twice, but the iPod gave me the same reaction each time, and no amount of fiddling with the settings could force it to do something different. "Suck," said I, since I like having an iPod.

But I remembered that the thing is still under warranty, so away I went today to get my Pod replaced. In the past two years technology has advanced far beyond my old Pod; other, newer machines laughed at the thing as I walked into the Apple Store's air-conditioned white plastic nirvana. The girl at the help desk held my Pod as if it were a soiled diaper and threw me a look of pity. Then she brought out a new Pod - 60 gigs; larger, full-color screen; plays videos; hip black face; a device in all ways superior to the sad machine I'd walked in with. And she gave it to me for free, no questions asked. Behold the power of my warranty.

When the girl asked if I wanted to buy a two-year warranty for my new Pod, for $59.99, I jumped at the chance. My old protection had just worked out wonderfully, after all, and the new warranty was $20 less than the last one. The way I see it, it's like buying the new Pod I'd have to buy in two years now, only at a cost of $60 instead of $300. Not a bad deal.

Now I'm no fan of planned obsolescence. I'd rather a thing work right for years than have to be replaced. But when the replacement is such a functional step up, I'm inclined to be magnanimous. Now if only my computer'd had the disk space on to store all of my old music...